


Welcome Home

by meils121



Category: Leverage
Genre: Foster Care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25871119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meils121/pseuds/meils121
Summary: Hardison is four when he gets put into foster care.  He can’t remember much of that day, just that it had started out like any other day - alone in the apartment, wondering when his mama would come home and if she’d bring any food with her.  He remembers thinking that it’d been a long time since he’d seen his mama, at least one sleep.  He didn’t know until years later, when he hacked into the files at CPS, who had alerted social services.  He just remembers seeing lots of people he didn’t know and a nice woman promising him a meal from McDonald’s and arriving at his first foster home in the middle of the afternoon.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36
Collections: The Leverage Exchange Master Collection





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abrightgrayworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrightgrayworld/gifts).



Hardison is four when he gets put into foster care. He can’t remember much of that day, just that it had started out like any other day - alone in the apartment, wondering when his mama would come home and if she’d bring any food with her. He remembers thinking that it’d been a long time since he’d seen his mama, at least one sleep. He didn’t know until years later, when he hacked into the files at CPS, who had alerted social services. He just remembers seeing lots of people he didn’t know and a nice woman promising him a meal from McDonald’s and arriving at his first foster home in the middle of the afternoon. 

He does remember hearing one adult say to another - and he thinks it was a social worker to a police officer - that this is just an emergency placement. Five weeks later, he’s on a different doorstep. He’s only there a couple months before he bounces to another foster home. It takes five years - five years of foster parents saying he’s just too smart for his own good, five years of hearing that he gets into too much trouble, five years of wondering if he’s just not good enough to deserve a family - for him to arrive at Nana’s. By then, he’s hardened to the system. He’s on his fourth social worker and seventh foster home. He doesn’t want to be here, not any more than he wanted to be at any of the other foster homes. Nobody understands him. Nobody wants him.

His mama never bothers to get her act together. Hardison doesn’t know when the contact visits stopped. Maybe the fourth or fifth foster home. He remembers how bad that hurt, when his social worker sat him down and told him that his mama loved him very much but just didn’t know how to take care of him. Hardison knew what she wasn’t saying. His mama never cared about him. He was a problem. Thing was, he felt like a problem at every single foster home he ever walked into. 

Nana’s house is different. The social worker pulls up in front of a rowhouse, a nondescript two-story brick building that blends in perfectly with its neighbors on a city block. Hardison is fascinated. He’s spent his life bouncing from suburb to suburb, from white family to white family. He’s used to being the odd one out: the foster kid, the black kid, the troublemaker. He’s got a faint glimmer of hope. He spent his early years in a tiny apartment six stories up. There’s something comforting about hearing the blare of car horns again.

There are a couple of older kids lounging on the stoop in front of the rowhouse. As soon as they see Hardison and his social worker, one of them yells through the open doorway. “Nana, he’s here!”

Hardison clutches his bag a little closer to his chest. He knows the deal with older kids. They bully and steal and blame things on him. He wonders how long it will be until he’s accused of something here, how long it will take for him to be moved again. And the kids called this new foster parent Nana. Hardison knows he’s gonna be the odd one out again, if these are her grandkids.

The woman who appears in the doorway certainly looks like a grandmother. She has a round face with plenty of wrinkles, and there’s more grey in her hair than brown. She’s also black, something that has Hardison stopping dead in his tracks. He’s never had a foster parent who looked anything like him. 

“Well, come on in!” The woman says, smiling at Hardison. It’s a nice smile, but Hardison’s learned by now that smiles can lie. 

The social worker gives Hardison a pat on the back and urges him forward. Hesitantly, he steps into the house and follows the woman down a cluttered hallway and into the kitchen. It smells like freshly baked cookies. The woman pulls out a chair at a big table for Hardison. He sits and seconds later a stack of still-warm chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk appear in front of him. Something starts to crack in the armor Hardison has put up.

“Welcome home.” The woman says when Hardison looks up at her. He’s never had anyone say that to him before. It sounds permanent and too good to be true, but Hardison wants to believe her more than he’s ever wanted to believe anyone in his life. He wants to believe that this place is going to be his home. “Call me Nana. Everyone does.” She winks at him. “I like it better than Roberta anyways.”

While Hardison tucks into the cookies, he listens as the social worker tells Nana about him. He doesn’t like this social worker. Hates her, actually. She always acts like he can’t hear a word she says, talking about him like he’s not right there.

“Alec has a lot of issues staying out of trouble.” She says. “Especially at school.”

Nana waves her hand, and Hardison is vaguely reminded of a fairy godmother when she does. “Let me get to know Alec before we get into all of that official nonsense.” She says, winking at Hardison again. He gives her a little smile in return. “Tell me, Alec, what do you like best about school?”

It’s funny - no one has ever asked him that before. It takes Hardison a minute to decide. “The computers.” He says. And it’s true. He loves walking into the computer lab at school. Loves sitting down in front of a screen and messing around until he can make something happen. 

“Well.” Nana says, a certain twinkle in her eyes. “Good thing there’s a computer upstairs.”

“Really?” Hardison asks, excited now. “And I can use it?”

Nana nods. “Of course you can. But only after you’ve done your homework and your chores. That’s the rule in this house.”

The social worker clears her throat. “Actually, Ms. Hapston, I would encourage you to reconsider this offer. Most of the trouble Alec has been getting into is because of his access to computers.”

Hardison sinks in his seat and hugs his arms around him. He really hates this social worker. 

Nana pats his hand and levels her gaze at the social worker. “Actually, Ms. Smith, I believe I was chosen as young Alec’s long-term carer because of my experience. I would expect you’d trust my decisions.”

Hardison chokes on his milk. He hears the social worker sputter for a moment before huffing out a “Well. We’ll see how this goes, I suppose.”

“I suppose.” Nana says. “Now, Alec, how about I show you that computer? You might be able to teach me a trick or two.”

Hardison smiles. He thinks he’s going to like staying with Nana.


End file.
